Darkness
on stage. Slowly, objects become visible. On one side of the stage are
two ‘regal chairs’, with high backs. In the two chairs are seated a Woman
and a Man. The woman is thirty-five and the man forty.

The opposite
side of the stage is lit by a spotlight. The Woman gets up, crosses over
and stands under the light. The Man sits very still, like a statue. The
intensity of the light on the chairs remains unchanged.

The Woman
starts speaking, addressing both the Man and the audience.

Woman:
There on the couch — not a regular, but a high-backed couch — sits a stone.
No… he hasn’t entirely turned to stone yet. (Changing the subject)
I’m from a former princely state… no… no… I’m a noblewoman of a royal
family and a lover of the man sitting over there…? ‘Royal family’ sounds
so dignified, no? But actually, I’m from a poor family and… forget it.
I won’t bore you with the details. (Suddenly) This palace of ours,
isn’t it huge? As big as the sky! Just the four or five of us live like
ghosts in this mansion. Over there is our royal garden… but the gulmohar[1]
has never really blossomed there. (Turns serious) The ratrani[2]has no fragrance, the chapha[3]has no fragrance. The
scent of the chapha is just too strong; it stings the nostrils.
Sometimes… it can knock you out. Only the terda[4]flowers
here. But its colour lasts for how many — five… four… no, three. Only
three days, and looks at me bitterly, as though it’s my rival in love.
Hmm! The pining chapha! (Laughs loudly) Did I just say ‘rival
in love’? No, this is getting just too serious… There stands our temple.
Yes, our own private temple. Because our family’s the royal family. And
the usual vrindavan[5]in the front. Of tulsi[6]!This is my mansion — isn’t it gorgeous! The illustrious stones in
these walls have started betraying their layers of cement. (Suddenly,
innocently, like a little child) You know, I water only that chapha
right there, every day, with a little brass kettle — exactly like the
one we use to sprinkle water on the gods. (Again, in her usual voice)
… You know how many days the colour of the terda lasts? Three…
No, not three… Perhaps only two days. The colour of my life… forget it…
My life is bleached. It has no colour whatsoever and I’ve turned into
a blanched gecko. (Addressing theMan) The man over there
— he’s come today after many days. Hey, you, did you hear what I said
just now? I wasn’t reciting a monologue.

The
Man doesn’t react. He sits there like a statue.

But
who’s he to me? And I to him… his brother was my… no… nothing. If I say
a word more to you, I would burst out crying… loudly. Break into — what
do you call it? — a wail or something. And I…

Suddenly,
the light changes to the usual. The Woman goes back to her chair and sits
beside the Man. Silence for approximately three seconds. Then, the floodlight
falls on the spot where the Woman had stood. This time, the Man goes and
stands under it. The Woman sits still as a statue.

Man:
I’ve loved her, that’s what she says. You know, it’s like this — I don’t
remember anything from the past. And she doesn’t understand that I don’t
remember anything… This is her wretched mansion. I feel suffocated here.
In the night, the foxes screech. This heath is arid, almost a desert.
Nothing grows here. When it rains at night, the foxes are in full-throated
cry. Only grass grows in this barren wasteland. A while back, it felt
very sultry… Now, it seems as though it’s going to turn chilly. (Shivers,
suddenly cold) I think I’m going to break into a fever. Then I’ll
just sleep and keep cold cloths on my hot head, all by myself. (To
the Woman) Madam, are you listening to me? I wasn’t reciting a monologue.
(Addressing the audience) Seen this… this woman? Her eye is razor-sharp.
I fear the bird of prey. There’s a bird of prey in her eyes. The little
child’s frightened of the bogeyman, and I — of her. Because… because (laughs)
I don’t remember anything from the past. My memories have vanished.

The
light again changes to the way it was earlier. The Man sits down in his
chair. Silence. Darkness.

Gradually,
lights come up. Empty stage. Light like usual. From a distance, the sound
of the Woman’s laughter, growing louder. She enters from the wings. Walks
casually around the stage. The Man enters after she starts speaking. His
movements are unnatural.

Woman:
This palace of ours, it’s very nice — I mean, it’s much better than not
having anything at all. This is your room — I mean your royal residence.
Since you left, nobody’s touched a thing here. When I heard you were coming…

Hey,
Could I show you a fun thing? May I? The safe… do you want to see the
safe? Wide, rectangular, blackish-white! Godrej or Khira[7]! It has two
locks. You turn it clockwise once, and then anti-clockwise. Then the big
door opens — the wide, rectangular, blackish-white door. But, whichever
safe was brought, the trapdoor of my secret locker was never opened. Whenever
I thought of opening it, I realised — just too late — that the key to
the hidden door was lost. And if there’s no secret compartment, what’s
the difference between a safe and a regular cupboard — they’re all the
same.

Silence

Do
you want to see the safe? If you don’t want to see it, say ‘no’ clearly.

An
eminent Marathi playwright, Satish Alekar has been active on the theatre
scene since the early seventies. A founder member of the Theatre Academy
of Pune, his best-known works are ‘Mahanirvan’ (1974) and ‘Begum Barve’
(1979)